


What Might We Deduce About His Scarf?

by Frederbee



Series: A Little Domestic [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Crap Christmas Gifts, Deductions, Gen, Knitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 07:47:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frederbee/pseuds/Frederbee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is working himself up to misbehave at Christmas and John feels the need to distract him</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Might We Deduce About His Scarf?

**Author's Note:**

> Follows the fic "Knitting"

"Now Sherlock. Mrs Hudson will be up in a moment, everyone else will be here later. You will behave. You will sit, drink, eat, and play pretty songs for Mrs Hudson. You will not tell us what you've cleverly learned. Go ahead and think it, but Do. Not. Deduce. Out. Loud. Clear?"

"Sounds dull."

"Sherlock."

"..."

"Sherlock."

"Fine."

With this, the consulting detective affected a long-suffering sigh, turned his gaze to the ceiling, and began to sulk. He sulked quietly as Mrs Hudson arrived with a tin of biscuits and a basket of parcels. He sulked mutely as the parcels got tucked in with the ones John had already placed. He sulked wordlessly as the kind doctor fetched for the dear landlady a cup of tea. He sulked silently (except for repeated sighs at every break in conversation) as small talk was engaged. He was quite taciturn, indeed, so there was no need for John to huff and get up, fetching a new parcel onto the desk.

"Sit, don't look at us, and enjoy. Then hush up."

Sherlock looked. Reached out a finger to open the card taped haphazardly to the package, the words _Deduce This_ scrawled inside. Then, with a smirk (he didn't, really, but John and Mrs Hudson insisted he did), he sat at the desk and began.

"First, the wrapping paper. Mrs Hudson's gifts are all in red with holly; John, yours are in green with reindeer. This is heavier, gold, with a nativity scene. Compared to the rest, it's poorly wrapped; you both take better care with wrapping. The card has angels on it; the religious motifs say church, the back of the card is stamped with the name "Parish of St Anne with St Thomas and St Peter". Purchased and wrapped at the church bazaar then, when you went last week."

He prodded the package, felt it give, then picked it up.

"Weight and texture indicate clothing, size... too large to be a tie, too small to be a sweater or shirt. Square, likely a scarf, not a hat."

He glanced back at John and Mrs Hudson, who sat quietly and, he realized, were entertained. With a pout (he most certainly DID NOT, but again with the insistence he did), he tore away the wrapping to reveal, as expected, a scarf. He unfolded it and looked quickly at the ugly thing, then glanced at John again.

"Oh, please continue to amaze us with your deductive reasoning."

Sherlock had lived with the doctor long enough to know when he was being mocked. But not long enough to stop rising to the bait. With a scowl, he put the scarf down.

"Made by a child. You can clearly see dropped and added stitches, and the texture varies from too loose to too tight. Quite abominable, really, but you are a sentimental man, John, and you _would_ buy such a thing from a child to encourage them. Likely as the raised money was going to a charity or fundraiser. You didn't care much for the appearance, knowing I had a scarf already, and that the point was to distract me. So you picked the one item least likely to be sold at the table, to be kind.

"It was picked up and set aside over time. Some sections show improvement, but devolve again quickly. Any talent with the craft was picked up over the course of an hour or so spent working on the project; this took a long time to make and the child didn't practice regularly, so the next time they picked it up, they made the same mistakes over again. A young child, eager enough to be patient but with no attention span.

"A parent, more than likely a mother, occasionally added a few inches, to help the project along. Every foot or so there exists neat, tidy rows for an inch or two. Obviously someone who supervised and helped, hence the return to a uniform width."At this Sherlock ran his fingers over the thing, feeling.

"Real wool, not synthetic. A gift, most likely, to a child wanting to learn how to knit. It takes determination to knit several feet of scarf when you're so clearly mediocre at the craft, and the parent's added inches show support. If this were an assignment from school, the yarn would be synthetic, cheap. The scarf would be shorter, finished more quickly. As well, the parent would be unlikely to do more than assist, and certainly not pick it up to add a few rows when the child forgets to put it away."

"Brilliant."

Sherlock turned again to face John, opened his mouth to make some pithy remark about how easy it all was-

"Of course, you missed nearly everything important."

Now, John was grinning, and Mrs Hudson began to giggle helplessly. Sherlock looked between the two of them, then back at the scarf, then brought it up to sniff at (he'd try licking next if this didn't reveal a clue). It smelled of Mrs Hudson's flat. Tea. And John. He narrowed his eyes, then looked at the badly cobbled together scarf. And figured it out.

"John, this is atrocious. Shouldn't a doctor be at least slightly skilled with his hands?"

**Author's Note:**

> ... And we all know how well Sherlock chose to behave for the rest of the evening


End file.
